Sloppy Makeouts & Lots of Feelings: A Davekat Fanfiction
by chickenpox33
Summary: Some Davekat drabble I'm fairly proud of. Lots of gooey, sticky, fluffy romantic stuff and hopefully hot makeout sessions. Rated M for excessive cussing, sexual themes, possible smut in the future and all-around mature content. AU where trolls and humans live normally and SBURB never existed.
1. Chapter 1

Your relationship with Strider was somewhat complicated.

The fact that it couldn't be labeled made you irrationally frustrated. It was bright red, and it was pale, and it was the darkest shade of black, and the lines were so blurry between each quadrant that you could scream. Hell, you two were all the colors of the fucking rainbow.

The majority of the time, you end up feeling ridiculously flushed for the prick. You'd blowup in his face and throw tantrums and bash him with every insult and demeaning name you could muster. You'd scream and yell and, holy shit, you'd break down in hysterical sobbing and swear on your life that you despised him. The fact that he just sat there and absorbed it made you even angrier - he wouldn't say a word, just wait for you to finish. When you were done, and all that was left was a whimpering shell, he'd hold you close to his chest and stroke your hair and whisper comfort in your ears.

And you don't know if that's red or pale or black because sometimes you do feel like you truly hate him but afterwards you realize it's just all the pent up self-loathe and fear and rage and you just dump it all on him and it just won't fucking stop and you just wish you knew what you're feeling.

You both moved into a small, dumpy NYC apartment after you graduated college. You worked odd jobs after failing to pursue your career as an author. Dave worked as a DJ at clubs and parties and other venues. The two of you made rather crappy income, and your schedules often clashed, and some days you only saw Dave when he crawled into bed with you at 3 am.

You came home angry one winter afternoon. Dave had taken the day off and was sprawled across the futon flipping through Netflix. You don't know why you were angry, but when you saw Dave laying there on his ass, you decided you were angry at him. There was no reason. But he was there and he was pretty much the only one you fucking cared about and you were mad.

"The apartment is a fucking mess. You could've at least changed out of your pajamas, you lazy prick. But hell, that's expectable - you never do shit around here." The door slammed behind you and Dave looked up, expressionless, and he knew what was coming.

"Why should I have to tolerate this shit from you, Strider?" You felt the anxiety and hatred bubble up inside you, and it was too late to stop it. "You're such a fucking moron, you know. It's fucking exhausting, you fucking pig, fuck you. I should just fucking move out now, it'd be much easier than babysitting your pitiful ass!" And he sat there. And he watched you. And he slowly took off his shades and set them on the coffee table beside him and watched you with those eyes that looks exactly like yours and it made your skin crawl.

"Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. You're just a douche, Strider, really. I'm so fucking sick of you. I hate your filthy guts, asshole." Your vision danced and you felt nauseous. You wanted to throw things. You wanted to tear into something. "I hate you." The room spun and tears bounced to your eyes, because it was so stressful, and no you didn't hate him, you pitied him.

You watched his stoney expression melt as he stood.

"Don't touch me." You shrank backwards but as soon as he wrapped you up in his arms, that was it, you were gone. You were sobbing and he was carrying you like a motherfucking princess to the stained futon and curling up with you and stroking your cheek and cooing 'babe, my cute little kitten, its okay, shh' over and over and over. You then proceeded to watch romcoms with Dave planting soft kisses down your neck and things were okay.


	2. Chapter 2

It was Sunday morning, and both you and Dave had the day off. Your eyes flickered open only to close again, completely content in your warm, cozy cocoon. But Dave wasn't here and you guess you were feeling particularly clingy that morning because you ~wanted~ him there, next to you, breath on your neck, legs intwined with yours.

You let out a noisy groan and got your ass out of bed.

The apartment smelled like leftover Subway and apple juice. Still half-asleep, you stumbled down the hall and into the living room, not surprised to see Dave getting his breakfast on. His mouth curved into a smile as soon as he saw you, but it was probably only because you were wearing his clothes. He always loved when you did that. His tees were much too big, and looked like a fucking nightgown on you.

"Get enough beauty sleep, Karkitten?" Dave asked through his usual smirk.

"Ohmygod, put that fucking wilted ass sandwich down and let me make you some actual breakfast." Is your loving reply. After a pause, "Seriously! I worry. You're always cramming shitty fast-food grease-stuffed over-processed crap down your maw, it's not good for you." You glance into the fridge and pull out some eggs. That should be fine, right?

Dave thought it was cute when you worried like that. You could practically feel his grin burning into your back as you turned on the stove.

***

Karkat has no idea.

First of all, he's wearing your fucking teeshirt, that he got off your fucking body after you screwed around last night. It's one of the hottest things he could do. It just makes you feel like he's ~your's~, and the thought sends electricity down your spine. His shoulder is exposed because the sleeves droop down on his arm, and his hair is all tousled from fucking and sleeping and it's too adorable for you to even describe and watching him make breakfast is suddenly the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

Also, from the futon, you get a nice view of his ass.

"Damn, Karkitty, you're turning into a pretty fine housewife." You call as you return to the television.

"Shut the fuck up." He retorts sharply, bringing over a plate of eggs for you. You take a bite and acknowledge that he put pepper on them and that they're scrambled, just how you like your eggs, and it's weird that someone can know you so well that they even know how to cook your eggs perfectly.

Okay, but you can't concentrate on eating. He's all snuggled up at your side and watching T.V and all you can see is the endeavors of last night and how ~pretty~ Kar's eyes are, glazed with drowsiness. You put the plate down on the coffee table to and turn to your amazingly attractive boyfriend and prepare to snog the hell out of him.

***

"Mmf, Dave!" You let out a disturbingly high pitched giggle as he pushes you onto the couch. His lips dance across your collarbone, your cheeks, your nose, and trace light patterns on your mouth. "Horny bastard. What, didn't get enough last night? Also, I didn't make those eggs for you to waste them-"

**

You decide to silence him by kissing him, in a soft, dignified way. It's unusual and Karkat doesn't expect it. You graze his bottom lip with your teeth, feeling him reach up to remove your shades.

"Dave?" You open your eyes and pull away for a moment. Karkat looks confused beneath you, and you brush a strand of hair from his gaze with a smile. "Dave, are you okay?"

"Of course. Nothing wrong with my showin' my kitten some love, is there?" You ask teasingly. You feel him squirm beneath you as he smirks in the most irritatingly obnoxious way possible. Clasping either side of your face, Karkat leans up and smashes your lips together, pushing his tongue inside your mouth. You welcome him with a small whimper of surprise and approval. Yeah, that's your Kitkat.

The troll's sharp teeth nibble your lips and GODYES you love it when he becomes possessive like this. With a growl, Karkat easily gets on top of you, escaping your grasp and pinning you down. Damn trolls and their super fucking strength. Even though he's smaller than you, it doesn't take much effort for him to win control.

He sneers down at you and your breathing is already getting heavier. You let out a soft mewl as he licks your neck, tongue giving it long strokes. Occasionally he'll start biting and sucking and you know a brilliant purple bruise will form there. Karkat, god, he's everywhere. His hands are on your face, your chest, your thighs, your ass, and palming your hard-on through your jeans until you keened his name.

Then his focus returns to your lips as he nibbles and sucks and licks and invades your mouth and he tastes absolutely wonderful. He begins to grind against you, rolling his hips into your's, and he makes the sweetest purr. It feels amazing, he's amazing.

And then - out of the nowhere - he gives you a bored expression.

"I'm going back to bed." He sighed, breath brushing your earlobe and letting his hip remain pressed to yours.

You'd follow, of course, with a grin stretching from ear to ear.


End file.
